


Three Words

by angelaiswriting (carolinemoore)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinemoore/pseuds/angelaiswriting
Summary: Request: "I NEED a Toly smut where he goes to see his secret girlfriend (that he’s hiding from the world bc he doesn’t want to put her in danger, so even Vlad doesn’t know about her, well, he has his suspicions) after a particularly harsh night and he makes sweet love to her"





	Three Words

Glancing sideways at his brother, Anatoly knew Vladimir was about to lose his shit. The last period had been more than simply ‘terrible’ with that masked _mudak_ ruining their plans. Vlad was always stressed and his stress reflected on his older brother and inevitably, it ended up reflecting on Y/N–it didn’t matter that Toly did his best at hiding her from the world because his business inevitably managed to slip between the two of them, even when he didn’t want it to happen.

Sergei was trying to calm Vladimir down. Everyone knew how he could turn when mad and no one wanted to be around to see and risk the repercussions of his anger outbursts. But Sergei stayed behind, trying to make him reason–something Tolya gave up on a long time ago.

Things had probably–or most definitely–changed in Utkin, in that damp and dark cell they had been thrown in. You could only change in a place like that; you could only let your old life die if you wanted to survive in a place like Utkin. And they had both done that, giving up on everything they had once known to become new versions of themselves. And while Anatoly had become better at reasoning, Vladimir had let his anger take the best of him. And he really couldn’t blame him.

“Stop it, this is all useless,” he groaned after a while when his brother had stopped yelling.

Vlad was tired, Tolya knew it not only because he knew his brother better than he knew himself, but also because he was tired, too. They already had their responsibilities and they had to put up with Fisk’s bootlicker. A masked dickhead minding _their_ business wasn’t exactly what they needed to turn their day for the better.

“I’m tired of that dick! How much have we lost in total because of him?” Vlad cussed, turning towards the windows with his hands in his hair.

Toly turned towards Sergei and with a look, the latter was gone, leaving the brothers alone. “It’s useless to get mad and swear,” he tried to reason. “That fucker took the kid, but what is done is done, now. Next time we’ll outsmart him, but I need my brother to do so and not the beast that got out of Utkin.”

Vladimir turned, rage clear on his face, in his eyes, even in his posture and clenched fists. “Next time we don’t outsmart anyone,” he growled. “Next time we kill him.”

Tolya smirked, silently agreeing with his brother. They stared at each other for a while before the oldest spoke again. “Go out, have fun, drink some shit. I’m sure Seriozha is waiting outside.”

“You not coming?”

He shook his head. “I have somewhere else to go.”

He had already reached the door of his brother’s office to leave the garage when Vladimir grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn around.

“Are you hiding a girl?” Volodya was smirking and for a second or two, he had forgotten everything about that night’s mess. “You know you can bring her here anytime.”

“I’m not hiding anyone.”

And as he left, he clearly heard his brother’s chuckle and he shook his head. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to hide her from him for much longer, but any minute was precious if it meant keeping her safe, away from the mess that was his life.

*

The corridor outside Y/N’s apartment had turned somewhat eerie ever since two of the three light bulbs had gone out. He didn’t mind–he had seen far scarier things in his life to be afraid of a poorly lit corridor in an apartment complex in Hell’s Kitchen. But he knew it unsettled her and he was still looking for a better place to make her move into.

As he unlocked and opened the door, though, the exhaustion of the day, made worse by the events of that night, came crashing down on his shoulders like a bowling ball and he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips.

“Toly? Is that you?”

He heard her call from her room and less than a minute later he was closing the door behind his back and she was standing in front of him, sleep still clouding her eyes.

It had taken her a glance to understand something was wrong and Tolya loved this of her. He didn’t like to talk about his problems and it had almost been a blessing to find someone like her that could read him like an open book. And before he could even take a second step into her apartment, her arms were wrapped tight around him and her head was resting in the crook of his neck, her lips ghosting on his skin, making goosebumps appear.

“You wanna talk about it?” she hummed, her fingers dancing in the hair behind his neck.

“No,” he whispered, hands coming up to caress the back of her thighs. And by the smile he felt on the side of his neck, he understood she had understood too. His arms came up to wrap around her waist and he heavily rested them right above her butt, his temple pressing down against her forehead.

The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the silence of the night, while a couple of stories below them, in the New York night, cars passed by, their motors rumbling.

“Come,” she said after a while, breaking the embrace and grabbing his hand. She looked at his tired eyes and smiled softly. “I’ll get you a bath ready.”

“No bath,” he stopped her, his fingers intertwining with hers, gaze falling down to stare at their joined hands. It was a sight that never tired him, something he’d be glad to do until the day he died. “Get under shower with me, please.”

Y/N smiled again before tugging him down the corridor, switching on the lights in the bathroom. She switched on the water so that it could get warm and she started to unbutton his shirt. He helped her by unbuttoning the wrists and before he knew it, her hands had slipped under the shirt, slid up his chest and they were now pushing his shirt down his shoulders. His belt and pants followed and he stared as she knelt down to the floor to get his shoes and clothes off.

“I missed you,” he whispered. Even after a year with Y/N, he still didn’t feel all that comfortable expressing his feelings–so much so that he still had to say those three words–, and so he hoped she hadn’t heard his confession. But when she looked up at him as she tugged his boxers down his legs, she smiled and he knew she’d heard. And, somehow, at that moment, he felt like it didn’t matter.

“Missed you, too,” she hummed, standing back up on her feet and pressing a light kiss in the dip of his collarbone. “So much,” she kissed him again, this time on his lips, as with a hand she pushed the door of the shower open.

Tolya entered and turned to look as she undressed in front of him, her pajamas and panties joining his clothes on the floor. He stretched his hand out for her to grab and when she did, he pulled her into the shower with him and closed the door.

They stood there like that for a few minutes, the warm water running down his back and taking away the sweat and memories of the night. And for a second he thought that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that that guy had ruined his and his brother’s plans, or that he had saved the kid, or that he wasn’t going to stop standing in their way. For an hour or two or for a day, he was there with her and nothing else had importance, nothing else mattered, nothing else _existed_. It was just Toly and that girl he had fallen for and that had somehow fallen for a waste like him.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, closed his eyes and let a long sigh escape his lips, fanning her face. Her hands came up to wrap once more around his waist and he could feel their palms burning the skin at the end of his back as she pushed closer against him, her lips a butterfly-like touch on the skin of his shoulder.

“Relax,” she whispered, pressing a kiss on his skin. She stretched her arm out to grab her sponge before pulling away to push him under the water jet.

They smiled at each other as she squeezed some shower gel on the sponge before she put it under the water for a second and she squeezed it.

Toly inhaled sharply when she started to scrub his chest and his hands came up to rest on her hips.

There wasn’t a day that passed by without him wondering what he had done to deserve someone like her. Because she was always there, to listen to him and to soothe him and to calm his anger–because he could say all he wanted about Volodya, but he wasn’t a saint either. And she was always ready to welcome him home and to show him how much she cared and how much she loved him. It still felt so weird–to be loved, even after Utkin, even after what he had done and who he was and what he was still doing. But she never stopped repeating it and she had even learned those words in Russian to make him smile. And she was always ready to try and make him feel better, even when he didn’t deserve it–just like she was doing now.

Sometimes he feared it was all a dream, nothing else. There was this fear in the pitch of his stomach that made him tremble every time he acknowledged it: he was going to wake up one day and she would be gone. But as she squeezed his arm for balance as she knelt down in front of him, bringing him back to the present, he was sure that that was no illusion, that she was really there and that she always would be.

He chuckled when he saw her blush, glancing away from his semi-hard member. She was so pure… At times he thought he was ruining her–and this was part of the reason why no one knew about them–, but then she was always there to prove him wrong, even without words, even with just a touch.

He smiled as she kissed his hip bone, her hand guiding the sponge down his right leg and back up its back before doing the same with the other one. And when she let him help her stand up again, he pulled her in for a kiss, his finger tangling in her wet hair, her body hot and pulsing with life right against his.

“Turn around,” she smiled, taking a small step back, as much as she could in the confined space of the shower, and went back at massaging his back, her fingers pressing down into his muscles to ease the tension.

He let out a soft moan. It always felt good when she massaged him and ever since the savior of Hell’s Kitchen had made his appearance, he had found himself in that situation more often than he could recall. He pressed his forearms against the tiled wall of the shower and leaned his forehead between them

When she switched on the shower jet to wash away the soap, he almost hissed in surprise, too lost in the feeling of her hands running up and down his body. She cleaned him and when she was done, she kissed his tattoos one by one as he turned the shower off.

She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with happiness as she scanned his face for any remaining trace of worry. And when she found none, she chuckled, lowering her gaze.

Time felt like it stopped for a second, his heart lost a beat and his lips parted, a small frown settling on his forehead. He had this amazing woman in front of him and their fingers were intertwined and he knew he had never felt as alive as when he was with her. And so, in the haze of the moment, he said them. Those three words. And this time, even if they came out in a whisper, he felt like screaming them from the rooftops and he somehow found himself on the verge of tears–tears he didn’t know he could still shed, not after what he had been through, and tears he didn’t know why he felt the impulse to cry. And for a second or two he feared she hadn’t heard him, and this time it wasn’t because he didn’t want her to hear them. It was because he was tired of hiding behind a wall that had no sense of existing when he was with her. It was because he was finally ready to stop pretending that relationship was made of glass so thin he could easily shatter it. And it was because it was true and he almost hadn’t felt himself fall so hard for someone so different from him.

But then, when she looked up at him with those eyes of hers, he knew she had heard. “I know,” she smiled, her hands trailing up to cup his neck. “I had already noticed months ago.” She pulled up on her tiptoes, hesitating for a moment, eyes locked, before she kissed him sweetly, her hands forcing him to bend down a little to meet her height.

When she broke the kiss to breathe, he smiled down at her maybe one of the most genuine smiles in the last period. But before he could say or do anything, she had opened the glass door and the chilly air of the bathroom made goosebumps appear on their skin.

She stepped out and he followed her. And as she grabbed a towel, he wondered again how he had managed to be that lucky and why he hadn’t introduced that girl to his brother, who clearly knew him better than he had thought.

He let her dry him off and he did the same to her, focusing on her hair a little longer, massaging her scalp, for he knew she’d lean back against his chest, her eyes closed, enjoying the slow movements of his fingers on her head. But then he let the towel fall to the ground, his hands traveling down her chest, over her breast and peaked nipples until he was hugging her waist, pushing himself against her from behind.

Toly felt her try to contain a laughter as she picked up on his actions, teasingly pushing back against him, her hands reaching his before moving on his forearms. He felt himself chuckle, a smirk pressing against the skin in the crook of her neck, his hands holding her tighter, muscles rippling under his skin.

And for another moment, he loved the tattoos on his hands. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his Y/N–his _woman_ –was tracing them with her fingertips and her body against his felt like a burning flame in the Siberian winter he was still getting out of.

And when she turned, he was already beaming. And he let himself feel selfish, _be_ selfish, because that was what she wanted, too. And so he kissed her, and this time it felt like the first time. Was it because he had finally said the three words, or because life felt so cozy at that moment, he didn’t know. But he felt sparks fly and go off in his entire body, blood thrumming with life in his brain, screaming over his thoughts, and he hummed in the kiss, his hands cupping her cheeks and hers cupping his. And it somehow felt like the end of the world, and the beginning of it, too. And he didn’t want it to stop and he wanted to be cheesy for once, and to make love to her ever so slowly, watching as she fell apart in front of him– _because of him_. And he felt like he could live forever, even just in that kiss, because she was light and for a couple of hours he could stop being black and he could be grey.

They both held their breaths for too long and even when they broke apart, their lips still lingered there, small smiles tugging their corners, and everything was good.

And when she grabbed his hand in hers, he let her lead him into the bedroom and to the bed. And as she laid down on her back, opening her legs a little to welcome him between them, and as his chest pressed down against hers, he swore he felt like home.

He kissed her, a tender urgency conveyed not only through the kiss but also through his hands as they grabbed her thighs to spread them a little wider. And they both gasped when he touched her and they both stopped for a second, eyes locked, lips parting, breaths mingling in the quiet night.

The lights of the never-sleeping city cast patterns of light and shadows on the skin of her body and he couldn’t help but stare, almost hypnotized by the goosebumps that looked like they were dancing on her skin. And he bent forward and he let his tongue trace those tattoos of light and the whimper she let out made him moan softly as his eyes closed on their own. And this time it was the tip of his tongue dancing on her skin, her fingers weaving through his wet hair, massaging his scalp.

And Toly was slowly grinding against her–so wet and hot, almost as if she was trying to burn away the disappointments of last period from his body and from his mind. And she ground against him, too, whimpering faintly in the silence of the room.

“I love you,” he repeated quietly, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the side and underside of her right breast. He could feel his fingers press into the soft skin of her thighs, almost as if they were burning the skin, and for a moment, he thought that if the world was bound to die, to burn to ashes, he would be happy to meet his end like that, worshipping her body, doing his best at cleansing his sins by loving her.

And when his kisses reached the valley of her breasts before moving onto her left nipple, perked in the air like a sentinel, he heard her exhale hard from her mouth before saying it back. And it was so soft and barely audible that it made him groan again, and when he ground against her again, he whimpered loudly, almost whining, because only God knew what she was doing to him.

With a last kiss at the tender skin of her breast, he rose on his knees to move down her body, his lips trailing down against her skin, his lips gliding over it as if he wanted to kiss every inch of her, as if they could convey how much he loved her and how hot and bright his love for her burned.

At that moment, with his lips ghosting against her labia, nothing else existed–and it wasn’t just a way of saying, it was more like the world had shrunk down to the bed they were sharing _and nothing else existed_. Wesley, Fisk, the masked guy–they were all shadows in a distant dream, a product of his tired imagination.

And so he kissed her tenderly because she was all that mattered, and her hands weaved through his hair, tugging lightly as the tip of his tongue circled her clit. And just like that, with the most feeble of touches, her back was arching, her toes curling, the muscles in her thighs contracting as he kept them open. Her breath whistled through her dry lips as she exhaled, trying her best at relaxing her body as he sucked on her clit, the fingers of one of his hands playing with her warm, wet skin.

Her back had just laid back down on the mattress when he inserted a finger inside her and she arched off the bed again, whimpering loudly, eyes screwed shut. He watched her muscles ripple under her skin as one of her hands reached her left breast, squeezing it painfully as he pulled his finger out before thrusting it back in slowly, her burning walls clamping down on it.

“Toly,” she whispered. And he swore it felt like a prayer and for a second he felt like a god–powerful and magnificent as the world crumbled down all around him. And so he inserted another finger into her and she moaned and he did too, against her clit, his eyes closing, his hips thrusting against the mattress, his erection in pain and throbbing.

And for as much as he wanted to sheath himself inside her, to feel her squeeze him tight, forcing him to screw his eyes shut, to hold his breath, to calm down the raging hammering of his heart, he sucked harder on her as his free hand clamped down on his cock. He moaned and whined at the feeling and he still did all he could to ignore it, to keep his eyes on her, fingering her dripping pussy as her back arched again.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw her turgid nipples up in the air, peeking in through her fingers as she squeezed her boobs, breathing hard.

“Toly,” she breathed again, pushing against his fingers, trying to get him in deeper.

And when he added a third finger, it was just a matter of minutes before she came, pleasure coursing through her veins like lighting, body going stiff, almost breaking. But before that, he felt her warmth squeeze him as hard as she was squeezing her breasts, as hard as she screwed her eyes, as hard as the heart beating inside her chest. He had found her sweet spot, and with his mouth still sucking on her clit, he had massaged its tender skin, hidden deep inside her. She had clamped down harder as her breathing turned ragged and her walls had started to flutter. It was _then_ that she came, so hard she squirted for the first time, so hard her mind went blank and crazy at the same time. So hard her mouth hung open, unable to neither whimper nor moan nor scream. And the arch of her back looked on the point of snapping, her knuckles turned white as she grabbed her boobs so tight it hurt, so tight the pain kept her grounded to the world.

And Toly had to stand up on his knees, still fingering her slowly, to stop himself from grinding into the mattress and from coming. But then, when he managed to gain back the control of his own breathing, he bent down again and after removing his fingers from her, her walls clamping down hard almost as if she didn’t want to let go, he licked her clean, his nose brushing lightly against her overstimulated clit, sending more volts of pleasure to run through her body.

For a moment he feared she had passed out by the unexpected intensity of the orgasm, but when he crawled up her body, her eyes smiled up at him.

“ _Privet_ ,” he smiled and suddenly he was out of breath and it was too difficult to think in English–or to even remember such a language existed.

She smiled up at him, this time with her lips, and he saw the indents of her teeth from when she had bit down. She was out of breath, too, and she, too, couldn’t think nor could she restart her brain. But her fingers still came up to trace his jaw, his nose, his lips. And he kissed her fingertips, eyes locked with hers.

For a second, he felt like dying. Because they always say that when you’re on the brink of the world of Death, you see your life to that moment flash before your eyes. But there had never been a moment where he had felt so alive. And what he saw wasn’t Moscow, nor the Moskva River as he strolled by it, and it wasn’t Utkin either. It was Y/N–and it was Toly, too. And he saw her dressed in white, and she was walking down the aisle of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, in Moscow, and Volodya was walking by her side, accompanying her to him. And it was Y/N and Toly and they were laying on the bed and they were naked and love still glimmered on their bodies under the light of the white nights seeping in through the curtains. And it was Y/N and she was pregnant with his first child and he felt like he had been blessed by God Himself.

And so he thrust slowly into her because he wasn’t ready to let those images disappear into nothing, not yet. And they kept eye contact until he was fully in and only then did she push up to meet his lips, her eyes still trained on his. She whimpered against them before he kissed her, pushing her back against the pillows.

Her hands trailing up the back of his thighs, his ass, his back felt like a dream, something he wasn’t ready to wake up from. And so he whimpered just like she had done, his eyes closing shut as his hips pulled back slowly.

His lips moved along her jaw, kissing and sucking their way down her throat. His hands caressed down her sides, fingers brushing the sides of her breasts before they slipped under her butt. He lifted her a little and her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his ass.

She whispered his name again, and “Toly” has never sounded sweeter than her whisper. And the lips through which that breath had escaped had never looked purer or holier than now. And he kissed her again, their tongues brushing against each other, forcing moans from their throats.

Her pussy felt better than a glove around him, better than it had felt around his fingers. And he had to remind himself to keep breathing because he wanted to come with her, this time. And so he picked up his pace a little, his hands squeezing her butt, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

He hadn’t even realized he was moaning in Russian–and he wouldn’t later, either. It would be her that told him and he’d be surprised she understood every word. But that had to be a surprise because Y/N was learning his native language in the secrecy of her free time and she wanted to show him in a special way. Toly would think nothing would be nor feel more special than while lovemaking. But that didn’t matter now, because he was thrusting into her and she was arching into his chest, her nipples pressing into his tight pecs and nothing had ever felt sweeter.

Her lips trailed the lobe of his ear, pressed a kiss below it and before Toly’s brain could even comprehend it, she was sucking at his sweet spot right below his jaw, on the side of his neck, and he saw sparks fly behind his closed eyelids.

And the more ragged their breathing got, the more they approached their climax. And Y/N was squeezing down on him even more deliciously than before and he was throbbing inside her and his stomach felt like a big knot inside his body.

And when she came for the second of many times that night and she triggered his own release, bodies going stiff and breaths getting caught in their lungs, Toly swore he _was_ light, just like her. And literally nothing existed. Only the places where their bodies touched did, and their mingling breaths, and hearts hammering against each other, and their tears mixing together. And his dick buried deep into her as it throbbed and her walls spasming around him and her lips on the skin of his neck and her hands on his arms. _That_ was the moment when he realized he didn’t want to let go. The moment he realized he wanted her in his life every minute of every day. The moment he thought he’d die happy _and loved_ if they shot him right then and there.

And a few hours later, when their bodies would be too spent to move, covered in a thin layer of sweat, Toly would understand that it was moments like that that count. Not the mob, not the business, not that _mudak_ ruining their plans. It was laying there with Y/N’s head on his chest, their legs tangled, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest. And he’d understand that really nothing else mattered and that he wanted her in his brother’s life, too, so that they could be family.

But until he finally summoned the courage to confess the extent his love for her went, they would lay there, cuddling, and they wouldn’t need words in English or in Russian or in any other language made up by man. Because those three words had been spoken, even if as quiet as a whisper, and they both didn’t need more.


End file.
